The frost date has passed. I know this because Isabel is planting rosemary and lemongrass when I come home from work. My wife is full of seasonal rituals, making a calendar for the marking of time unnecessary.

“Hi there,” she calls, motioning with a spade for me to join her. She’s working in the circular herb garden, surrounded by embedded stones. A six foot post, topped with a birdhouse, towers above her.

I set my gym and computer bags on the deck and step down onto the lawn in my wing tips which will now need polishing as the yard has grown unruly. Should’ve started mowing several weeks ago—maintenance is truly the bane of man’s existence. I sit myself in the middle of the concrete bench so it and I won’t topple over. Made that mistake before.

Isabel’s attention has returned to hole-digging. She’s wearing a sun-yellow wrap skirt with lavender colored ties and pockets, one of her creations. I remember sighing last November when she pulled out the sewing machine—time for storm windows to go up.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“Ordinary.”

“Oh, goodness—anything but that!” Not a trace of malice touches her smile. She scoops fertilized soil from a bag that’s been ripped haphazardly near the top and sifts it into the waiting holes, picking out a few dark clumps, breaking them apart. The dark spray landing on her skirt looks like Oreo crumbs. Her oval face is also dusted with potting soil mix, yet she’s beautiful.

The rules said I could only have one woman, so I chose carefully. But what would our pastor say if I told him the routine, the responsibilities of life, of family, pressed daily upon my chest? The incremental accumulation just now noticeable.

I know what he’d say, so I keep quiet.

“What’s wrong, Thad?” Her body shifts back toward the heels of her green, plastic clogs. She stabs the spade into the ground.

“Where's Seth?”

“Nice try. Now what’s got you down?”

I lean sideways and pinch off a sprig of the rosemary waiting in a pot. She’s close to planting it, burying it in the ground—never to be moved again.

“I miss having smorgasbords,” I say.

“Smorgasbords?”

“You know—that awesome variety of hot and cold food spread out on one table. I'd alternate between something hot to warm me and something cold to cool me. Nothing ordinary about smorgasbords.”

“Your mother made those, didn’t she?”

“The last one the Easter before she passed away. Then you and I got married . . . and well . . . the smorgasbord stops at marriage.” I roll the rosemary between my thumb and finger, practically tasting lamb chops. “Where’s the dill?”

“Behind the birdbath. Why?”

“Aspic.”

“Aspic?”

“Aspic.”

“Oh, aspic.”

The following afternoon, there’s no Isabel in the herb garden when I come home. Instead I find her and a hundred competing smells coming from the kitchen. “Close your eyes,” she says, bobbing in front of me, her form bringing new appeal to one of my mother’s old aprons, teal daisies faded. “Don’t you open them,” she warns.

It’s obvious what she’s done. She kissed me goodbye in the morning, bee-lined to the Internet, then shopped for and prepared everything listed under Smorgasbord. She didn’t get that I wasn’t really talking about an array of food. That’s not what's wrong.

She leads me to the dining room before releasing my hand. “Wait a sec,” she says. “Okay, you can open them. Ta-dah.” She’s holding an oblong platter, her prize—a congealed salmon. I think that’s dill under the gelatin.

We’ve been lying in bed ten minutes; I can barely move. I’m regretting the caution I smacked out of the park when I gorged on bread, headcheese, sour cream herring, steaming potatoes with white sauce, peas, cabbage rolls, and rice porridge. And, of course, the aspic. I’ll be amazed if I survive the night. A moan squeezes past my distended diaphragm.

“You don’t sound like you’re doing very well,” says Isabel, rollling to my side. She kisses my forehead several times. Her fingers feel cool at my temples. “Gee, honey,” she whispers, with what may be a trace of malice. “Who would’ve thought indulging one’s appetite for smorgasbord could cause such pain?”

I’m glad it’s dark and she can’t see the frozen expression mapped across my face. Couldn’t be satisfied with a woman of beauty alone—could I? This is what I get for wanting brains, too.

The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HEREJOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.

A story steeped in aged denials spiced with double entendres and smothered with smoky anticipations. The MC certainly did not need a priest or pastor for confessional. He knew his wife was clever, but seemed a bit surprised to learn that she knew what needed to be brought to the table as well.

Very intriguing opening paragraph - sets the mood for this thoughtful story and the MC's discontent and longings. I love the subtle underlying message and the wife's understanding of his true "problem". The details and descriptions bring it all to life. Nice job!

I think I see this as a little bit darker and sadder than the previous commentators...I finished it with a sense of longing and discontent. Not at the writing, but in empathy for the narrator, who's still not quite content. Superb writing, capturing un-nameable emotions with marvelous wordsmanship.

Very well done! The voice is so real. I felt his discontent and wanted him to love and appreciate his wife as I do. She was great. The picture you painted of her was so clear. This is excellent. I would read the novel!

I think the guy is beginning to realize, by the end, that he DOES have it all (i.e., brains and beauty). At least I hope he's realizing it!! You've created incredibly compelling and realistic characters, and the description and details are fantastic. Very well done!

I agree with the comments about this story's "dark" feel. Your writing style took me to places in my own emotions that I wish had never existed. The MC could have once been me. That is incredible writing.

Fantastic rendering of the common problem of the man who needs more spice and the wife who keeps everything neat and in its place. But with wisdom like Isabel's there is always a future. I hope she's not too late to rescue him from the downward slide, and I hope she leaves him breathless.

I loved your story and could so picture Isabel from your exquisite descriptions! This line was a favorite, "My wife is full of seasonal rituals, making a calendar for the marking of time unnecessary," as it told a lot about her in so few words! The emotions of the husband and the wisdom of Isabel were so clearly revealed. You touched on longings many of us have at times in our lives, so it is easy to identify with your characters. Excellent writing! :)

Perfect title, first of all - bit of a hint there. The tone of the first few paragraphs was perfect (it totally made me want to garden as well, but that's besides the point...). I LOVE that the MC was real, genuine and flawed. And that your ending wasn't happily-ever-after, even though a resolution was hinted at. The whole thing felt authentic and so I became much more involved and concerned. Great, great writing.

The writing is excellent, but I'm left wondering. The last paragraph leads me to believe that there is more to the husband's emotions than is revealed in the short story. Maybe I just missed it, but something still isn't okay with him, and I want to know the rest. :)

I too found this story to be somewhat sad despite the humorous undertones. I felt like the man was not truly appreciating the great woman that he has and that he was being discontent with his married life. I could be wrong in my interpretation, but that is how I took it.

I felt like this was a very good portrayal of many marriages today and the struggles people have within those marriages. Great writing as always!

I wondered how many women had been in his life before he married, and if he would realize that he had made the best choice possible in Isabel. Great job, very realistic, as we all too often wonder about what we are missing.

You have received so many wonderful comments that I figured I would focus simply on one of the little aspects I loved. I enjoyed how you reemphasized the couple's life was the same by the MC's lack of need for a calendar. The subtle nuance there was excellent. (I even hoped to see it a third time!) Incredible writing.

Sorry, I totally missed the reference to God. I assume that this site is named Faithwriters and I dont the demonstration of your faith in this paper. I must admit I am always surprised that lack of acknowledgement and respect for God in an article gets any recogniztion at all considering the name of the website.

Thank you for inviting me into your world and all the hot and cold parts of it. Loved the shoes needing polishing part and sitting on the stone bench just right, things we learn by experience. Made me chuckle.